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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27854938">Taphophobia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaxSpieler/pseuds/SaxSpieler'>SaxSpieler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Runescape (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Almost), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fic remake, Gaslighting, Gen, Oreb's a real POS, Psychological Torture, References to Addiction, References to human experimentation, Soul stuff, Use of one's fear as a torture tool, dismemberment mention, live burial, lots and lots and lots of headcanons, oodles of them, ye olde butcherde greek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:02:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27854938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaxSpieler/pseuds/SaxSpieler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>From the improvised desk of Magister Oreb Ephrakos Charron, who seems to be having some issues with juggling both his experiments and his apprentice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Taphophobia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Headcanons abound regarding soul stuff, Mr. Charron's experiments, and why Nomad wears a scarf all the time.</p>
<p>This is a remake of one of my earlier fics, Twisted Tutelage (which I'm keeping up for the posterity). I felt that it needed a revamp in particular before I moved on to refreshing Elegy to the Past, for reasons. Also it was a chance to try and break the writer's block I've been stuck in for the past several months (not helped by a cross-town move and major surgery).</p>
<p>Please mind the tags.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Warm darkness hung in the cave, a sour-smelling dampness that threatened to snuff the small army of candles surrounding the makeshift desk of stacked oak logs and half-rotted planks.</p>
<p>There were well over a hundred of them, molded over the tips of stalagmites, crammed into deep nooks in the walls, and arranged on stray rocks brought from aboveground. The illumination the candles provided was nowhere near to the liking of the aging eyes that strained to write by their glow, however.</p>
<p>
  <em>-Ουρανία still has not produced the desired energy, even after fifty-six trials. There is no pattern to the type of energies produced, though base elemental forces are still produced far more frequently than catalytic forces. Trials shall continue into the foreseeable future-</em>
</p>
<p>A raven-feather quill scratched against scrounged sheepskin parchment, driven by a practiced, weathered hand.</p>
<p>
  <em>-with an increase in the frequency of psychectomies performed in its immediate vicinity. It is possible that this may help to coax Ουρανία to release raw soul energy. As I have postulated before, this energy should not cause any adverse negative reactions when used to supplement the density of any given soul in existence. Density positively correlates to the resistance of a soul to destructive interference during fusion, so supplementation with Ουρανία’s energy would prove to be invaluable for continuing studies-</em>
</p>
<p>The page was filled, and the writer waited for the ink to dry before carefully flipping the fragile parchment over and continuing his thoughts on the back.</p>
<p>
  <em>-should it become easier in the future to harvest.</em>
</p>
<p>Returning the quill to its holder, the writer stepped back from his desk and turned to the altar nearby, noting its quiet yet ever-shifting power as he approached and placed his hands on its surface. </p>
<p><em>Why will you not give me what I require?</em> he thought, fingers curling against stone, imagining them curling into the collar of the heavy, woolen workrobes of a House Charron student and shaking some sense into them instead. <em>What reason do you have for reticence?</em></p>
<p>His brow furrowed and he pushed away from the altar with a sigh. This was a <em>stone,</em> not a <em>student.</em> It held a great power within it, for certain, but all his measurements and observations had come to the same conclusion - there was no higher mind at work within the altar. </p>
<p>Likely, whatever energy was released from the altar boiled down to probability that was currently stacked against him, and whether his latest resolution would improve the situation remained to be seen.</p>
<p>He returned to the desk, lightly casting finger across the ink at the top of the page to check that it had dried. The rest of the parchment stared back at him, vacant and begging for more thoughts.</p>
<p><em>I shall be the better man, Ουρανία-</em> he thought, plucking his quill from its stand and pricking it into the nearby inkwell- <em>and demonstrate the virtue of cooperation. Perhaps then, you will accede.</em></p>
<p>With that, he pressed the quill back to the parchment and began to write again.</p>
<p>There was little left to document regarding his research on <em>Ουρανία,</em> so the rest of the page quickly became a repository for random musings and reminders.</p>
<p>
  <em>I require more essence samples. A bushel of the highest purity possible should be sufficient for the next two fortnights. How I am going to obtain them without having to resort to robbery again, I have no idea.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Rations have been woefully unvaried as of late. There are only so many ways to adequately prepare lizard meat, and the gaminess is something my palette cannot take much more of.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I should begin devising a way to obtain a large amount of diamonds for research purposes. According to the information I have gathered on similar objects, diamonds are quite good at containment and binding enchantments, and should be more than suitable as a starting material for my φυλακτήριον.</em>
</p>
<p>The page was almost filled - only a small rectangle of empty parchment remained. He tapped the quill nib impatiently on the rim of the inkwell, squeezing shut eyes that felt as if they had been caked in burning sand. Finally, he shook his head and scribbled out fourteen words that were less of a reminder and more of a warning.</p>
<p>
  <em>I must do all I can to tame that wretched beast of a νομάς.</em>
</p>
<p>Oreb dropped his quill back into its stand with a disdainful flick of his fingers. </p>
<p>Like <em>Ουρανία,</em> the <em>νομάς</em> was mercurial, unpredictable, and woefully <em>indispensable.</em> Both had proved to be painfully stubborn in all regards. Both housed terribly great potential despite otherwise unremarkable outer appearances. And, both had something Oreb desperately needed.</p>
<p>Much to Oreb’s luck, however, obtaining either proved to be as troublesome as drawing blood from a stone.</p>
<p><em>Ironic,</em> he thought, sparing a withering glance at <em>Ουρανία</em> from over his shoulder, <em>that blood energy flows aplenty from this stone.</em> Idly, his hand went to a spare bowl of runes - earth, by the twin waves thaumaturgically cast in deep brown on their otherwise smooth surfaces - and he palmed a handful of them, sliding them over and under each other. The resulting sound was a raspy squeak not unlike that of pressed chalk against a writing board.</p>
<p>
  <em>If frayed nerves produced sound, this would be it.</em>
</p>
<p>Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed, and the flames of the nearby cluster of candles wavered threateningly. The time he spent trying to quell the pervasive aggression of his understudy had begun to encroach dangerously on the time he needed to effectively manage his own experiments. </p>
<p>The latest of which revolved around a particular subject: integration of the extracted soul of another into one’s own. </p>
<p>In simpler terms: soul transfusion. </p>
<p>In the basest of terms: soul <em>consumption.</em></p>
<p>The benefits were numerous, to be certain. Oreb had stopped counting his age after he passed his hundred and twentieth year, far longer than most Teragardians - or Gielinorian humans, for that matter - naturally lived. Magic, which used to come to him only under the aid of runes, Teragardian magitech, or other such crutches, now cascaded from his fingertips, tinged with the otherworldly luminescence of soul energy. He had learned more about the nature of the sentient condition in the two decades since his first successful transfusion than he had in over half a century of study at the <em>Ινστιτούτο μαγικής καινοτομίας.</em></p>
<p>The benefits were numerous, to be certain. But, they <em>barely</em> outweighed the risks.</p>
<p>First, there was the bleaching and eventual loss of his hair - first in small wisps that he had found on his desk and bedroll from time to time, then in large clumps that he tugged from his skull before he began to look unacceptably scabious. </p>
<p>Soon after going completely bald, his skin thinned and turned crepey, stretching taut over his progressively atrophying muscles and bones. He had brushed up against a wall of the cave one night, and found his shoulder effectively immobilized by pain and bruises the next morning. Initially, he had devised a plan to focus his soul-powered magics to fortify his physical constitution, which had worked swimmingly up until he encountered by far the greatest risk.</p>
<p>The yawning, insatiable hunger set deep in his chest, constantly threatening to tip him headfirst into the ravenous, indiscriminate harvest of souls that would destroy the clandestinity he had labored to keep since his arrival to Gielinor. </p>
<p>Mundane food and drink did nothing. Only transfusing - <em>consuming</em> - the soul of another could truly sate that hunger, as he had quickly established. But, with that satiation came more alopecia, more wasting, and more pain, rolling over and over in a vicious cycle that Oreb could see no end to - an addiction to which there was no known recovery.</p>
<p>The only way forward that he could see was to ascend beyond death, and any need for mortal physicality as a result, or fall victim to it. That was where the <em>νομάς,</em> and what Oreb needed from the alley rat turned unconventional apprentice, came into play. </p>
<p>Oreb needed a <em>successor.</em> The <em>νομάς</em> was to be that successor, someone who would carry the name and works of House Charron with the same decorum and ambition that Oreb himself embodied. Someone who would triumph should he fail, a very real possibility that he had bitterly forced himself to accept.</p>
<p><em>And if I don’t fail,</em> he reminded himself, <em>the sheer natural power of his soul will make for a once in a lifetime test subject. A reward for my patience, if nothing else.</em></p>
<p>Despite every ounce of effort Oreb poured into the <em>νομάς’s</em> education, he was still more like a stray dog in demeanor than the respectable inheritor he had tried to create. Yes, the <em>νομάς</em> was quick, clever, and a determined learner, but his brattiness and unearned pride poisoned it all, forcing Oreb to furiously cross out any permanent House Charron names that he had considered granting him.</p>
<p><em>Adir,</em> after Adira, his firstborn. <em>Silas,</em> after where he found the <em>νομάς</em> - squatting in a urban grove of dead trees. <em>Ephraim,</em> after his father, for all the distaste he felt for the previous Magister of House Charron. <em>Sotiris,</em> after the very reason he kept the <em>νομάς</em> around. All of them, discarded.</p>
<p><em>Disgusting,</em> he thought, and he couldn’t tell if he was referring to the <em>νομάς,</em> himself, or the metaphysical cannibalism he engaged in. <em>My best chance at leaving a legacy in this world with what time I have left is</em> this.</p>
<p>Shuffling footsteps approached, carrying with them the mixed fetor of blood, decay, sweat, and something distinctly reptile in its pungentness.</p>
<p>
  <em>Speak of the Tutsaroth.</em>
</p>
<p>“Is it done?” Oreb asked, not bothering to turn and look.</p>
<p>“Yes,” the <em>νομάς</em> replied simply. “The lizards got their dinner, as always.”</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>The day’s test subject had died just as it was being extracted from its host. It had been a weakling soul, pathetic and shivering from lack of experience, and had dissipated before Oreb could decide whether to offer it to <em>Ουρανία</em> or to his own famished soul. Part of the reason, he surmised, was the fact that it had been brought to him with its host half dead and missing an arm.</p>
<p>“Tell me, <em>νομάς,”</em> Oreb began, stress poisoning his voice. “Was it truly necessary to dismember today’s subject before bringing it to me?”</p>
<p>“He fought me. So, I fought back.”</p>
<p>Oreb sighed through clenched teeth.</p>
<p>“Yes, you <em>certainly</em> did,” he began, finally turning and facing the <em>νομάς.</em> The younger man’s mousey hair was caked in still-wet blood and mud, the mixed sludge dripping down his gaunt, wary face. “But, is it so much to ask that you follow my instructions? I have reminded you, more than once, that you are not to permanently damage what you bring to me. I need subjects <em>intact, νομάς,</em> to control for all variables.” His fist clenched around the runes, the growl of the stones scraping against each other mirroring the one rising in his throat. “Missing arms are variables - <em>significant variables!”</em></p>
<p>Though his voice had risen, the only reaction from the <em>νομάς</em> was the slight wrinkling of his nose as if he smelled something fouler than lizard excreta.</p>
<p>“You are an untrainable <em>animal!”</em> Oreb whirled back around to his makeshift desk and shut his journal, cloak swirling and kicking up dirt at the motion. “You constantly disobey my orders, disregard my more important lessons, and willingly destroy that which I have explained to you should be handled with the utmost care!” He exhaled hotly, his grip tightening enough to crack one of the earth runes. “If we were on Teragard, I would have had you thrown into the vanguard of House Aresion long ago, and I would have watched you earn your name from Magister Deimos or die trying. Given your demonstrated lack of ability to obey, the <em>latter</em> would be far more likely.”</p>
<p>“We’re <em>not</em> on Teragard,” the <em>νομάς</em> sneered, his words cavalier and dismissive. “Though, if you pray to your precious Saradomin hard enough, you might just end up back there in your cushy cathedral with a hundred lackeys’ lips stuck to your-”</p>
<p>Oreb hardly registered the swell of earth magic that crackled around his hand as he crushed the runes, having no need for such things anymore. Yet, the magic registered <em>him.</em></p>
<p>His <em>will.</em> </p>
<p>The ground beneath the <em>νομάς’s</em> feet swelled. His eyes darted down, but before he could jump away, the swell surged around his ankles and collapsed, pulling him down into the soft earth up to his temple. He was locked in place, and though he slammed his head back to keep his nose and mouth from being buried, each of his panicked inhales drew more and more dust and dirt in.</p>
<p>He coughed, then began to choke. Oreb inched forward, the spent runes falling from his hand in a fine dust.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until he was standing over the debossed hole, peering curiously at what he had accomplished, that the <em>νομάς</em> began to scream. He thrashed his head, eyes wide like prey caught in a trap, but the motions only served to drive more dirt toward his airways. Oreb saw tears well at the corners of the <em>νομάς’s</em> eyes, heard his screams become broken sobs, and something clicked.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fear. Taphophobia.</em>
</p>
<p>He felt his mouth quirk slightly. He wasn’t enjoying this, watching his potential successor - a station usually reserved for the <em>children</em> of Magistrates - endure what could reasonably be considered torture. He was, however, enjoying the possible applications of this latest discovery.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fear, perhaps the most potent motivator.</em>
</p>
<p>The <em>νομάς’s</em> tears fell freely now, the earth entombing his head drinking them up greedily. His eyes darted to and fro, pupils wide, and his wracked whimpers were shallow. A fresh wave of dry dirt cascaded into his mouth at the corner, and he writhed as if struck by lightning. </p>
<p>Oreb knelt down, catching the <em>νομάς’s</em> hair in a fist and fixing his panicked stare up into his own with a tug. </p>
<p>“Now that I have your undivided attention, νομάς, let me make this perfectly clear.” A smile crept across his face, despite himself. </p>
<p>
  <em>Blood from a stone, attention from a νομάς. Not nearly as impossible as I previously thought.</em>
</p>
<p>“I pulled you from the gutter and saved your life. Sheltered you. Raised you as my own, even. Imagine how <em>hurt</em> I am, then, to be repaid in disrespect.” He leaned in closer, his foot nudging a wave of dirt closer to the <em>νομάς’s</em> mouth. This didn’t go unnoticed, the <em>νομάς’s</em> gaze turning from panicked to pleading. “Henceforth, every slight, every act of disobedience, and every hindrance to my work that you commit will earn you <em>this.”</em></p>
<p>He stood suddenly, sweeping the dirt across the <em>νομάς’s</em> nose and mouth, watching him seize and whimper for a moment before turning and striding back toward the desk. There was another observation to record, after all.</p>
<p>And no note would be left untaken.</p>
<p>“I’ll leave you there for the night, <em>νομάς,”</em> he called back, briskly flipping open his journal to a fresh page, “to make sure my lesson <em>sinks in.</em> Do try to get some sleep, if you can. We have more work to do tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Harsh wheezing and the occasional sob were the only sounds in <em>Ουρανία’s</em> corner of the cave until the scratching of a quill joined them.</p>
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